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Amy’s Body
My mother turned the sunroom into a hospital room
for my sister Amy’s body.She
complemented the cheery sunroom décor with a vinyl hospital recliner, IV poles,
a stark white supply cabinet, and an electric hospital bed.Sometimes, the smell of Amy’s decaying body
drifted into the kitchen and made me nauseous, so I avoided the kitchen unless
it was absolutely necessary to use the stove.Without consulting my parents, I moved the microwave into the basement
family room, where I had already moved my belongings and myself, so I could
avoid being upstairs for any reason.I
didn’t want to see Amy’s useless body propped up in the recliner and positioned
as doll, appearing to look out the window or watch TV.I found my mother’s need to make Amy’s body
look active and normal extremely morbid.It also made me extremely angry.I knew the best part of Amy was gone and my mother was using what was
physically left of her to play “pretend”.
During the three
months that Amy’s body had been home, I only looked at it twice, then only when
my mother wasn’t around.Once it was
lying in bed, eyes closed, dressed in a pink nightie [Amy hated pink] with her
old teddy bear stuffed under it’s arm. I stared down, feeling disgusted and
angry, then bolted to the family room when I heard my mother come in the front
door.The next time I “visited” Amy’s
body, it was propped up in the recliner, eyes open but unfocused.I sat on a stool right in front of it and
wondered if I could be seen.Could the
eyes in this body see how different I had become?Could they see and understand the misery Amy’s partial absence
was causing our family?Could they see
the pain in my face, pain that caused me to hurt so much I sometimes couldn’t
eat without puking?Maybe the eyes
couldn’t see at all, so the world before them was black.Maybe they were looking into another
dimension and seeing a future Amy couldn’t experience because part of her was
still trapped here.Maybe they were
watching the very last terrifying experience Amy had, like a DVD on
repeat.Maybe her damaged brain had no
idea the body it once totally controlled was sitting in a used hospital chair,
covered with patchwork quilts.But what
I truly hoped was that her eyes couldn’t see me and that whatever she was
looking at was incredibly wonderful.
My mother didn’t
sleep with Amy’s body, though this surprised me.Instead, she slept in Amy’s original room with a baby monitor
on.My mother, along with a nurse’s
aid, provided all the care for Amy’s body, because Dad and I refused to
help.Since Dad wouldn’t help her, my
mother moved out of their bedroom and stopped speaking to him.Since my mother wouldn’t let go of Amy, I
stopped speaking to her and moved downstairs.
“Amy!”I woke up in the middle of the night to see
my father sleeping on the opposite couch and CNN flickering on the TV.Not knowing why, I urgently needed to check
on Amy’s body.I crept upstairs and
stood in the door of the sunroom, looking at her body.The baby monitor was on.Tiptoeing across the room, I carefully laid
it face down on a towel, covering the microphone, then sat in wooden chair next
to the bed.I smoothed back the body’s
hair and squeezed it’s hand to let it know I was there.
“I’m
glad you heard me calling for you.It’s
been so hard to get anybody’s attention in this house.It never used to be like that.”Turning my head to the left, I saw a
vibrantly smiling Amy stretched out in the recliner, ankles crossed, straight
dark hair gleaming and lying across her shoulders, wearing her favorite “laze
about” outfit—yoga pants and a tank top.“How have you been?” she asked, flipping her hair back over her
shoulders.“I really need to pin this
up,” she muttered.
A
genuine smiled curved my lips for the first time in several months.Here was Amy---her soul, opening up before
me, talking to me as she had been when she was here on earth, filling me with
happiness and hope.“I’ve been better.”
I whispered, my voice cracking.“How
are you?”
Amy
laughed.“I’m fine.However, my earthy vessel…” she waved a hand
at the body, “…is damaged beyond repair.I actually did die that day, but there were too many know-it-alls doing
everything to save me.I don’t think any
one of them gave a minute’s thought to what life would be like for me after being
pinned under water for 10 minutes.So,
the thoughtless do-gooders dragged me back kicking and screaming.At least, my soul was.That thing,” she pointed to her body, “will
never kick and scream again.”
I
looked back at Amy’s body.It was
becoming twisted, the muscles in the arms and legs contracting despite our
mother’s best efforts the keep them limber and strong.“I keep trying to leave,” Amy continued as
we studied her body.“But Mom pumps me
full of antibiotics and vitamins and keeps exercising my useless limbs.I’ve tried to tell her many times I need to
go, but she won’t listen.So, I’m stuck
here.I can’t start a new life.I’m sick of evaluating my old one.I want to move on.That’s why I contacted you, dear sister.I need your help.”
I
studied Amy’s face as she spoke to me.She looked so beautiful, so peaceful, so alive.Then I realized I was looking at the best
part of Amy.She really was going to
live forever.She just needed to get on
her way.I glanced at her old
body.“What do you want me to do with
this?”
“Well,”
she leaned toward me with a wicked smile on her face.“What I really want you to do is dig a deep hole, toss it in,
shoot it and bury it, but you’d go to jail and that would just suck for you.It’d be a blast for me though.” She
laughed.“So, you need to be more
subtle.”
“Ya’
think?” I said sarcastically.
She
laughed again, then sobered.“I know
what to do.Do you really want to help
me?”
“I
want to.”
“Can
you?”
I
sighed.“I can.”We were quiet for a few moments.I studied the limp hand I was holding.“Amy?”I looked up and she smiled at me.“What do I need to do?”
Her
smile faded and she became very serious.“Don’t let me have the antibiotics.I’ve had numerous infections, but mom keeps giving me those damn IV
antibiotics and weakening the infections.That and her damn desire to keep me here with her.That pull she has on me is very strong.She has to let me go.But even with her strong hold on me, I think
the infections can do it.They just
need a chance to be destructive.”
I
nodded.“I can figure out something
about the antibiotics,” I finally said.“But I can’t stop her if she sends you to the hospital for treatment.I’ll do my best, though.”
“I
know you will.”She stood up and walked
over to the opposite side of the bed, her eyes scanning the body under the
blankets.Reaching over the bed, she
squeezed my shoulder and I was suddenly warm and calm.“Oh, Amy,” I whispered, tears filling my
eyes as I touched her warm hand.“I’ve
really missed you.”
The
next day, while my mother was napping and the aid was busy changing the bed, I
snatched several bags of antibiotics from the refrigerator.In my basement sanctuary, I worked on Amy’s
request.Using the biggest syringe I
could find, I drained as much fluid out of the IV bags stopper as I could, then
replaced it with saline solution I had found in a box of extra supplies in the
garage.Using a red permanent marker, I
carefully marked the bags I doctored up with a small red dot.That evening I sat at the kitchen table and
watched as my mother removed a bag of medicine from the fridge and gave it to
Amy.Soon Amy, I thought.If this works you’ll soon be free.
I
saw Amy again that night.“I can feel
the infection building strength already,” she said excitedly.“Thank you so much for helping me.”She hugged me.“I’m so glad you’re my sister.”
“Some
people may think what I’m doing is murder, Amy.If our mother finds out, she’ll say I killed you.”
Amy
sobered.“But, you’re not killing
me.You’re helping me.”She paused.“Do you feel this is murder?”
“No.I think it’s like euthanasia.I’d never have done it though, if you
hadn’t asked.”We sat in a comfortable
silence, watching the chest of Amy’s body rhythmically rise and fall.“Amy, what is it like to be free, or, well,
nearly free?”
Amy
leaned forward in the recliner and began.She described to me intense feelings of peace and love surrounding her
when she died.“I felt like I was
floating into and out of everything—we were all one being.Sometimes I saw faces that were familiar and
instead of remaining separate we came together and, well, blended.It is really hard to describe, but it felt
wonderful.All the physical and
material things that I thought I needed or wanted didn’t matter.In that form, in that place, I had
everything and yet, it was nothing I could hold in my hands, but became a part
of me.”She sighed as she leaned back
in the chair, looking wistfully up at the full moon.“That’s the best I can do, but you will feel it one day.Some of it you can feel, like the love you
have for me or the love Mom and Dad have for us.But it’ll be a very long time before you’ll be this way.”
“Really?How do you know?’
She
shrugged.“I can’t tell you.I just know.”
I
turned off the tiny table lamp, the only one on, and watched as moonlight
filled the room.Then I carried my
chair over to Amy.“How do you feel
right now?” I asked, sitting next to her.
She
sighed.“Being caught between two
worlds is very difficult, because I can never return there—” she pointed at her
body—“But I can’t go there---” she pointed up at the sky---“without tying off
loose ends.Understand?”
I
looked up at the stars, the full moon, the beautiful night sky.“Yes, I do.”And for a moment, I actually envied her future.
I
met with Amy for the next several nights.We talked as we always did when she came home to visit; we giggled as we
reminisced about our childhood; I cried because I would have to wait so long to
see her again. “I’ll be fine.” She
reassured me.“I’ll always check up on
you.” And she made me laugh again as she described how she was going to spy on
me.“You will be happy again,” she
reassured me as she handed me tissues, “I promise.”
On Sunday night,
after a week of doctored antibiotics, I found Amy standing by the bed watching
her body.“It’s almost time,” she said,
watching the face of the body.It was
sweating profusely; hair sticking to the scalp in clumps and the pillow looked
damp.She glanced up at me. “Go get Dad,” she urged.“I want to say good-bye.”
I
ran down the stairs taking two at a time. “Dad!” I called as I hit the last
step and slid to the floor.“Dad, wake
up!” He jumped off the couch and grabbed me.
“What’s
wrong?What’s wrong?Are you hurt?” He demanded, clutching my
shoulders and shaking me.I shook my
head and took two slow deep breaths.“Why am I shaking you?”He
stopped.“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Amy.She’s going to die and she wants to say
good-bye.”
He
stared at me, his mouth hanging open.“How do you know she is going to die?”
“She
just told me. She’s upstairs waiting for you.”
He closed his
mouth.“Oh, God.The dreams I’ve had…” he mumbled, then he
pushed me aside and bounded up the stairs.I found him standing at the foot of the body’s bed, watching it’s chest
rapidly rise and fall.Amy was gone,
but the body was gasping for air like a fish out of water.I pulled a chair over to the bedside and
lead Dad to it.He fell down onto the
seat.
I expected him to
start asking questions, trying to rationalize with me, prodding me for
information.Instead, he remained
silent, his eyes glued to the pale, sunken face.He clasped the right hand in both of his and leaned close to
it’s ear.“I’m here Amy.”He whispered, then kissed it’s cheek.“You can go whenever you’re ready.”
I sat in a chair
opposite Dad and held the left hand of Amy’s body.We lost track of time as we watched and waited.We watched the breathing change, becoming
more sporadic with longer pauses.We watched
the color of it’s skin change, going from a light pink to a pale, plastic
yellow.We sat.We waited.We didn’t get mother.
The body cooled;
the hands became limp; it’s chest stopped rising.“Do you hear that?” my father asked suddenly, raising his tear
stained face to search the room.“It’s
music.I hear music.”He looked relieved.“She’s going to be alright.”Her hand squeezed my fingers for the first
and only time, telling me good-bye.I
was ecstatic.I looked at Amy’s body
and knew that she was free.
Trisha Ofstedal
Email: Trisha Ofstedal
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